


Syrens and Saviours

by maqcy



Category: Original Work
Genre: AU, Changing POVs, Death Threats, Fantasy, Fear of Flying, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Sexual Bondage, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Saviour Characters, Syren Character, Wings, bar setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:52:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maqcy/pseuds/maqcy
Summary: “Zephyr,” Zeph’s eyes narrowed at the sound of his name, “Let the innocent go. We can get you medicine for the mercury. We can take you somewhere safe.” Zeph spat at the Saviour’s feet, “Release her-”“Just stay away!” Zeph snapped, half pleading. The Saviour didn’t, coming forward with steadily measured movements, and, in a fit of desperation, Zeph manipulated the woman’s mind and shoved her forwards as he took off. The woman’s scream echoed down the empty street as she threw herself at the Saviour and Zeph lurched away, the alleyway swinging as he clutched his injured arm to his chest.Delirious, Zeph heard a scream end with a wet thump. He didn’t connect it with what he’d just done. He wouldn’t piece it together until hours later.---Zeph is a Syren. He has the ability to elicit emotions in others and he’s hunted for it by Saviours, a society dedicated to capturing or destroying the remainder of his kind. Forced into a corner, Zeph does something terrible enough that he starts to believe he’s not the good guy anymore, if he ever was. He's still running but Zeph is losing his will to fight back. Then Seth, an innocent but strange bystander, gets in the way and complicates everything.





	1. Chapter 1

_Zeph_

Zeph was getting an uneasy feeling, and it wasn’t the mercury that was affecting him. The more mercury that built up in his veins, the more distracted and off-balance it made him, loosening his grasp on reality. This, this wasn’t the mercury driving him slowly to madness, this was an uncomfortable sense of wrongness. The carpark was empty, of humans at least and the music from the diner was muffled enough for him to hear the quiet. But, still, there was something wrong here and Zeph didn’t want to hang around long enough to find out what it was. Paranoid or not, Zeph felt exposed and vulnerable; he’d waited long enough. The pills he so desperately needed would have to wait. Zeph dropped his cigarette and extinguished it under his boot before moving over towards his bike.

At first, the shapes detaching themselves from the shadows looked like men. Then the sleepy light emitted by the diner caught their eerily flawless faces as they spread out around him, getting between him and his bike and Zeph realised the men weren’t men at all and that they were coming at him to kill. Their glowing hands lit up the semi darkness, burning, blinding light coiling up their bare forearms to the elbow.

With the mercury in his blood preventing flight, Zeph’s boots were tethered to the tarmac. The Saviours had every advantage, but they always did.

Zeph barely had time to draw his tungsten-alloy knife before they were on him. The Saviours would be able to melt the blade if they tried hard enough but it was more resistant to the heat of their hands than either steel or silver.

Zeph struck out at an approaching Saviour he didn’t recognise before going for another’s throat. They were fast and the third grabbed hold of Zeph’s arm before he could draw away, scorching the flesh from the bone and filling the air with the stench of burnt meat. Zeph screamed at a pitch that made even the Saviours, usually impervious to his abilities, wince, and he forcibly freed himself from the Saviour’s grip before throwing himself backwards, yelling curses as he struggled with the dizzying pain. Zeph switched his knife to the other hand as he cradled his ruined arm.

They came at him again and Zeph knew he wouldn’t hold them off long, not with so many. He cursed his contacts to hell for their betrayal. Zeph jabbed again as one of them got too close, but the move was a decoy and Zeph barely managed to get out of the way as another Saviour came at him, a sharp eyed, fleet-footed male Zeph recognised. That particular Saviour had been on his tail for over a year and Zeph couldn’t get rid of him. Zeph spat a curse at him, twisting around to stab at the abdomen of another Saviour, this one coming up behind him. The man gave a shout of anguish as he fell backwards, blood spewing from the gash at his stomach, giving Zeph the space to break free of their entrapment and run for his life.

Zeph heard the Saviours calling to each other behind him, co-ordinating a pursuit, and Zeph longed to call for his wings though he knew the levels of mercury in his blood were too high for him to take off. Having his wings out would only slow him down and attract unwanted attention, but he longed for them still. He heard boots pounding after him and the crackle of radios as they called for reinforcements and pushed himself to go faster.

Zeph swore as he rounded the corner. He couldn’t fly and he hadn’t had chance to check for rivers in the area what with running from another ambush only days before. Acquiring the anti-mercury drugs had been his highest priority. Zeph barrelled into someone coming the other way, a human dressed in black, and he gave a cry of pain as agony exploded from the frayed, raw nerves in his injured arm and sent his vision spinning.

He heard the Saviours coming up behind him and, exhausted and delusional with pain and the toxicity of the mercury, Zeph grabbed the human around the shoulders as he backed up against a wall. Holding the woman in front of him with his good arm, he wearily suppressed her fear with a few words in her ear, leaning on her in order to remain upright.

Saviours, two of them, drew to a halt in front of him, barely out of breath,

“Syren.” The sharp-eyed Saviour spoke with an impassive expression, though he was wired with tension. He could see the desperate look in the Syren’s eyes, his pupils almost eclipsing his irises meaning that his mercury levels were dangerously high. His companion looked on in evident antipathy, “Zephyr,” Zeph’s eyes narrowed at the sound of his name, “Let the innocent go. We can get you medicine for the mercury. We can take you somewhere safe.” Zeph spat at the Saviour’s feet,

“Back off or I’ll kill her.” He slurred, watching the Saviour’s gaze move down to the knife in Zeph’s hand, “I’ll ruin her mind.”

“That wouldn’t be a wise course of action, Syren.” The sharp-eyed Saviour said,

“Neither,” Zeph growled, tightening his hold on the woman, though she hadn’t moved, “would be coming forward another step, _Saviour_.”

“Release her-” The Saviour started,

“Just stay away!” Zeph snapped, half pleading. The Saviour didn’t, coming forward with steadily measured movements, and, in a fit of desperation, Zeph manipulated the woman’s mind with his clever words, twisting her into believing that the Saviour was the enemy and shoved her forwards as he took off. The woman’s scream echoed down the empty street as she threw herself at the Saviour and Zeph lurched away, the alleyway swinging as he clutched his injured arm to his heaving chest.

Delirious, Zeph heard a scream end with a wet thump. He didn’t connect it with what he’d just done, wouldn’t piece it together until hours later. Instead, Zeph stumbled away, relying on instinct alone as he saw a shimmer of water and, after minutes that felt like hours, struggled clumsily over a barbed fence and careered down a mud-slide river bank to feel the freezing water engulf him. With the water came relief and release, and, drained, Zeph waded away from the river’s quagmire banks as best he could and allowed the murky city water to draw him steadily downstream. He was swept away from the light of the Saviours’ skin, his pursuers halted at the bank as he slipped out of their murderous, fiery fingers.

Almost unconscious, Zeph allowed the current to pull him along, falling limp as the water cradled him, moving over his wounds as it aided his natural healing and soothed his awful burns.

Zeph closed his eyes and settled his breath, allowing himself to sink down into the river, welcoming the cold and the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeph meets someone who piques his curiosity.

_Zeph_

Zeph heard the waiter coming towards to him and didn’t react. He muttered a few calming words and though the man coming towards him didn’t consciously hear them, the waiter felt his hostility towards the rough-looking, hooded stranger drain away,

“What can I get you?” The waiter enquired pleasantly,

“Eggs and steak, rare. And coffee, no sugar.” The waiter nodded, wrote the odd order on his notepad and then cocked his head as he thought he heard the stranger mutter something. Feeling a rush of charity, he said, “There will be no charge for your meal today.” The man nodded under his hood and the waiter experienced a soothing feeling of well-being. The waiter was happy to give the man a free meal. He deserved it.

Zeph’s eyes moved around the small café, scanning each customer, eying what they were wearing, who they were with and where they were looking whilst making sure no-one had overheard his exchange with the waiter. He saw a glint of light and turned sharply, but it was only a flashy gold watch at the wrist of a young woman reflecting the patchy sunlight. Zeph sank back into the seat to stare out of the grimy window to his right.

The waiter returned with Zeph’s meal and the food turned out to be good and hot, the coffee nicely bitter. He swallowed one of his precious anti-mercury pills and finished up, wiping his greasy lips on the napkin. The waiter smiled at him as he left.

Zeph never went back for the bike he’d abandoned in the parking lot that night. Instead, he’d acquired a new one and grown used to its more responsive handling, the grip and the weight of it underneath him. Zeph put on a helmet he wore only grudgingly, since being pulled over by the police attracted unwelcome attention, and though his healing and reflexes would save him from any mundane accidents, extra protection would save him time and energy in healing if he was ambushed by Saviours.

Riding up the interstate took longer than he’d expected and Zeph pulled in at a road-side motel just before he lost the light, killing the engine on his bike and removing his helmet, taking his small holdall from where it was strapped to the back of his bike. He took a quick, scouring look at the encroaching darkness before headed into the warmth of the motel’s reception.

The boy on the desk was pale with tired eyes softened by innocence, attractive in his youthful genuineness, warm where the Saviours’ perfection made them cold. When the boy smiled shyly at Zeph, Zeph smiled back with his lips sealed, humming quietly. His humming made the boy’s cheeks flush and his tongue stutter over his words and Zeph smiled thinly as the boy bit his lip and offered Zeph a room key, feeling the boy’s lust-stuck gaze follow him until he was out of sight.

Zeph caught up with a man on the stairs, heavy set and weary-looking, though he was young enough to not yet pass for middle aged. Zeph moved past him in the corridor and lifted his lips in a tired smile, and though it wasn’t returned, Zeph didn’t care enough to exercise his influence on the man’s emotions. The man retreated into his room and Zeph entered his, further down the corridor. Setting his bag and helmet down on the narrow single bed gave him a gentle sense of relief.

Zeph checked the bedroom and bathroom jadedly, finding them empty of anyone but himself before taking his newest phone from his pocket to spend a moment getting the internet up – even cheap motels now had a Wi-Fi password tacked up on the wall – in order to check the area for waterways. Having orientated himself, Zeph went to the bathroom and sliding the cheap lock, stripping off his clothes with a wince, his body aching from holding the same position for so long, and stepped into the shower, balancing his knife on the wash dish before turning on the water.

A few minutes later, dripping and shivering, Zeph stepped out onto a worn, grey mat and leant over the tiny sink to coax the cheap, motel soap into a lather and smooth it over his rough cheeks and jaw.

Zeph shaved in the mirror, twitching as he nicked his neck with the blade and the soap made the cut sting. Zeph ignored it and by the time he’d washed off the soap, the cut had already sealed up. Zeph drained the sink and redressed, making sure his knife sheath was in easy reach at his hip where it was concealed by his loose, dark jacket.

Zeph stepped out of the bathroom, dropping his wash kit back into his open duffle bag before sitting down on the bed. He dragged a hand through his short, damp hair. Several minutes passed before Zeph got up and left, feeling strangely hollow, though the physical aches of the journey had long dissipated.

 

………..

 

Zeph settled down in the corner of Devil’s Bar with his beer leaking foam down his fingers. It was warm inside, crowded. He wiped his hand on his trousers and took a drink, narrowing his eyes as he lowered his beer, watching the door over the rim as people came and went.

It was later on, though there was still a little of his drink left in the glass, that a man entered with a slight stiffness in his gait. Zeph swallowed another mouthful and watched with casual interest as the man, dressed in workman’s clothes, ordered. He was around the same height as Zeph but with lighter hair, a solid strength in his broad shoulders and a dark expression on his face. He sat tilted over the bar, nursing his drink like he wanted it to swallow him.

Zeph went to interfere with the man’s emotions with a few muttered words but the male was immovable, like a handle he couldn’t turn, a jar that wouldn’t open. Zeph saw the man lift a hand to his head with an expression of discomfort and Zeph released the pressure, watching with more specific interest as the human turned to scan the bar, fingers touching his forehead. When the man had turned his back again, Zeph finished his drink and shrugged on his leather jacket, coming over to the bar.

Zeph ordered a fresh drink, and, without looking directly at the man, he knew he was being watched. Zeph bore the man’s stare, turned away as if he was oblivious, though uncertainty and interest vied in his gut. His instincts told him that this man knew something, knew too much. But he couldn’t stop himself from remembering a woman, a long time ago, one who had also been impervious to his abilities. Whether this man was dangerous, one of the Saviours’ informers, Zeph didn’t yet know.

When Zeph’s drink arrived, the human got to his feet and left, leaving half of his own drink on the bar. Zeph’s eyes trailed the man to the door and the man glanced back once, catching Zeph’s eye before he was gone. Zeph frowned, swallowing several mouthfuls of his drink, relishing the transient buzz as his healing got rid of the toxins in alcohol almost faster than he could drink it.

Zeph rose, then, from the stool and headed outside, the cold air was soothing on his heated skin. The man was cutting across the carpark towards town and as Zeph opened the bar door and light spilled out onto the worn concrete, the man looked back, fear written out plainly on his features.

The man took off and, with a curse, Zeph followed. The shadows of the buildings played over him, the streetlights illuminating nothing more than a passing shadow as he flitted under their orange-tinted sheen. He cursed that he couldn’t use his wings. They were itching under his skin, aching with a longing for the open sky and for once he wasn’t inhibited by the damn mercury, but it would have to wait; he couldn’t risk exposing his wings to the human, or any other passers-by. The Saviours had eyes. Zeph ruminated on the possibility that this man was one of the Saviours’ subordinates as he walked, the memories of other such humans running through his head. Those that crossed his path, he killed. When he was younger, he used to try to twist their minds to forgetfulness both to protect his own skin and because he couldn’t stomach murder, until the day when he found a friend dead by the hand of an informant he’d spared. From there he hardened his heart and took the increased risk, as every informant dead highlighted his exact location. What Zeph would do about a man who couldn’t be influenced, if he turned out to be innocent, he didn’t yet know.

He pushed on. Zeph possessed the ability to catch up with the man in seconds but he let the chase stretch on, until they’d moved into darker streets and the man was wearied. Then, seizing the man by back of his shirt, half-choking him, Zeph dragged the human off the pavement and around the back of a store, shoving him up against the wall. Zeph kept his fist twisted in the man’s collar as the man thrashed against him in panic, yelling furious, choked protests at him. He was struggling so violently that Zeph tried to put a dampener on the man’s fear but his words only seemed to make things worse. The human fell limp in his hold and Zeph released his collar in surprise, watching him fall to the floor with a groan, both hands clutching his head in pain. Zeph resisted the urge to step away and instead crouched down in front of the man, studying him with narrowed eyes,

“Don’t do that again.” The man said and Zeph frowned,

“Painful?”

“What do you think, asshole?” The man spat, glaring at Zeph, who merely raised his eyebrows, “What do you want?” The human demanded, watching Zeph’s face with uncertainty. Zeph ran the question through his head; was it something a Saviour informant would say?

“Why were you running?” The man, shaking slightly from cold or fear, dropped Zeph’s gaze and a muscle twitched in his jaw. He didn’t answer. Zeph waited,

“You were just playing with me.” The man said finally, his voice cold and hard, but exhausted, his chest still heaving, “You still are.” He closed his eyes a moment. Zeph frowned slightly,

“I am not playing.” He said frostily, “I’m not enjoying this.” He tried again to manipulate the man’s emotions to make him more relaxed, more pliable. It didn’t work as the man hissing in pain, his fingers clawed in his pale hair. Zeph growled slightly in frustration and the man’s head came up slowly, his shoulders tense,

“What do you want then?” He said, his voice low and husky. Zeph ignored the shiver that that voice triggered in him and pulled his eyebrows down, making his gaze as darkly animalistic as he could. The man shuddered, avoiding Zeph’s gaze,

“What’s your name?” Zeph demanded,

“Seth.” The man’s name came out as a murmur, barely the sound of air passing lips.

“Why did you leave the bar?” Seth caught his gaze with his head held back as far away from Zeph as he could manage with his back against the wall.

“I felt you trying to manipulate me,” he said, his shoulders dropping down slightly as he lowered his gaze, “you came over. So I left.” His voice was steady, controlled. It didn’t answer Zeph’s real question.

“What do you know about me?” Seth looked up with a frown,

“I don’t know anything about you.” He said, his gaze scanning Zeph’s shadowed face.

Zeph got to his feet, his eyes skimming Seth with an incomprehensible expression and Seth pushed himself up, using the wall to support him as he watched Zeph warily. Zeph made a decision.

Zeph pushed his shoulders back and felt the ripples all along his wing shafts as he cracked his spine, the freedom bringing a rush of contentment. The moment was ruined by the man’s, Seth’s, expression of horror, seeing something monstrous in Zeph’s wings. Zeph flexed his wings, pressing Seth back against the wall in a moment of spite before he saw the raw panic in Seth’s face and stepped back. The man stumbled forwards into Zeph’s hold and Zeph fastened his arms tightly around the man’s ribcage and bent his knees, thrusting the pair of them up into the sky to quickly lift them up above the low clouds.

Seth released a horrified gasp as they climbed, scrabbling in Zeph’s arms in pure terror, his nails clawing at Zeph’s shoulders for a better hold, the skin on his face pale as the moon,

“Don’t drop me, please, I can give you answers, you don’t have to kill me. I won’t tell anyone, I swear to God.” He hooked his arms around the back of Zeph’s neck, his grip vice-like, his chest pressed forcefully against Zeph’s in a desperate attempt to hold on, “Don’t let me fall.” He pleaded.

“I won’t.” Zeph said, noticing that the human hadn’t yet mentioned the Saviours. All of his previous encounters with Saviour sycophants had involved them threatening him with the wrath of the Saviours within seconds of their realising what he was. “It’s alright.” Zeph said but Seth only choked out something between a laugh and a sob and held on to Zeph fiercely, shaking. After several minutes, Zeph felt Seth’s stiff form stir slightly and he moved to look over Zeph’s shoulder,

“Where are we going?” Seth asked half-heartedly, the fire that had previously been in his voice absent. Zeph found himself almost disappointed.

“Somewhere secluded,” He said, his low voice rumbling in his chest, “A safe house of sorts.” Seth shivered against Zeph in the icy night air and Zeph clenched his jaw, turning his head away from Seth’s face, so temptingly close to his own.

“Safe for who?” Seth muttered and Zeph smirked, angling his wings into a glide. Seth tightened his grip as his breath caught and then, with a violent rush of air, they were on the ground. Around them, the dark was almost absolute with the moon entirely hidden behind a bank of clouds. Seth stood shaking violently and Zeph took him by the arm, leading him forwards with a wing curled around Seth’s broad shoulders. Seth flinched away from Zeph’s feathers and shrank into himself, dragging his feet as Zeph propelled him forwards.

The further forward they went, the more unwilling Seth became, pressing back against Zeph with increasing determination. Zeph scowled and batted Seth with his wing, knocking him forwards. Zeph glared, knowing that, even in the near complete blackness, Seth would still be able to make out the gleam of his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeph and Seth talk, though Seth can't help but provoke the creature keeping him captive.

_Seth_

Seth stuttered to a stop when the demon halted and he heard the chinking of heavy metal chains. Hoping desperately that the demon was distracted, Seth wrenched his arm from the demon’s grip and ducked down under his wing, knowing that the demon was too strong for him to simply shove him aside. He slipped free, feeling freezing, open air around him for a single blissful second until, even as he was rising to run, he was swatted to the side, thrown onto his stomach before feverishly warm, rough hands were hauling him up and he was dragged, thrashing, into a building. He was deposited on the dusty floor and left lying there, panting for breath.

Despite the dark, Seth knew he was in some sort of barn. It was quiet in the way of the countryside, the floor under him was cold stone and there was the musty smell of cattle or sheep that lingered in the air and dirt even after the animals had left.  It was abandoned, isolated and pitch black and Seth stood like an island, surrounded by a silence that was broken only by the small sounds of his own movements.

Getting to his feet, Seth’s useless eyes strained to make out something, anything, in the dark. Seth felt the demon move by a whisper of air and the light pad of footsteps and he tensed up, his heart pumping like a frenzied drum, though it was a futile effort by his body; there was nowhere to run to, no fight here he could hope to win. He heard more noises, further away but louder. Something metallic and heavy and then a clicking of smaller metal objects. Seth closed his eyes and tried to steady himself, smothering the crushing sense of dread even as he heard the demon moving back towards him with just the lightest of steps, his wings moving through the air making more sound than his boots did.

“Seth.” The demon’s voice came from close behind him, steady and flat and Seth started. He hated that the demon used his name. It seemed to be waiting for an answer,

“Yeah?” Seth’s voice wavered,

“I’m going to touch your wrist now. Don’t be alarmed.” Seth instantly drew both his arms to his chest and he thought he heard the demon sigh,

“Why?” Seth demanded, his voice not as steady as he wanted it to be, “Are you going to kill me?”

“Put your arm down, Seth.” Seth was shaking, his body alternating between hot sweats and icy cold, tensing and releasing in a way he had no control over. He didn’t think the demon had been bluffing when he said this place was secluded,

“What are you going to do?”

“One,” the demon paused, “two,” he paused again and Seth dropped his arm,

“It’s there, alright,” Seth said shakily, his fist bunched up. He braced for pain but there was only the demon’s rough, warm fingers moving to grip his wrist loosely, tugging him backwards a couple of steps before easing Seth down to a crouch. Seth heard the click of metal and tensed up, _fight!_ his mind hissed, _fight!_ Seth forced himself still as the demon’s grip shifted and he felt a thin, cold band of metal close around his wrist. With one arm held back, the demon’s hand moved to Seth’s other wrist and guided it down, locking it beside his other hand and rendering Seth defenceless. Seth had to swallow down the fear, tried to ignore how vulnerable he was. He shifted his legs out from under him, moving into a more comfortable position on the hard floor before taking a shaky breath.

Seth hadn’t heard the demon move away but a match flared suddenly on the other side of the barn and Seth blinked as the demon lit a candle, sending buttery light up the grey-plaster walls of the old building, illuminating dark beams like arteries and cracks like thin veins, the outline of a hayloft up above him and a large piece of some kind of machinery in the corner.

The demon stood with his back to Seth, outlined by the candlelight. In the dim light, Seth could see hints of red in the demon’s feathered wings, splaying out at the tips like a bird of prey, the features shorter and denser near the demon’s shoulder blades. They rose from the back of the male’s leather jacket through slits in the fabric, the loose material swaying when he moved.

_Zeph_

Zeph turned to see Seth watching him, his eyebrows slightly lowered and his expression grim. Zeph wanted to know what was in Seth’s mind, itched to flex his fingers and manipulate the man to find out what he was thinking, what he wanted. Zeph scowled. His abilities seemed ineffectual on Seth, but he didn’t need them to know that the man wanted to be anywhere but here.

_Seth_

Seth caught the demon’s scowl and repressed a flinch, the candlelight playing across the male’s strong features as he turned towards Seth.

“Have you met others who have caused the pain in your head?” the demon said finally, watching Seth intently,

“Yeah.” Seth glanced up to see the demon staring back but there was nothing in his expression to communicate his emotions, “A couple.” He flexed his fingers in the cuffs, the metal pressing into his skin, moving his arms and shoulders in an attempt to ease the strain.

“How did you know someone was causing it?” Seth’s gaze flickered over the other male briefly, there was a long pause, “Seth.” It was a warning. Seth swallowed and released the tension in his jaw,

“At first I thought it was just headaches, just pain in my head.” The demon waited for him to continue, not impatient, but resolute in his certainty that Seth would keep speaking, “But people around me would act differently. They’d always be someone watching them, following their movements like a cat. Controlling them.” The demon was frowning now and Seth shut his mouth, feeling cold sweat building up on his spine and palms. He tensed when the demon took a step towards him but the demon’s hands were his jacket pockets, his wings hanging loosely behind him,

“These people never noticed you?” He said. Seth shrugged,

“Why do you care?” He said wearily. The glare being levelled at him made his stomach clench and he scowled, “Yeah, sometimes. I hid the pain and usually I-” He broke off and shrugged again, keeping his head down.

_Zeph_

Zeph waited several long seconds before taking another step forwards,

“Usually what?” Seth looked up and said, bitterly,

“Usually I get away.” Zeph considered the man silently,

“Are your parents like this?” Seth didn’t answer, staring at the floor. Zeph wrapped his usual resentment around him and closed the space between them further, “ _Seth_.” He growled, towering over the man on the floor, frustrated with his reticence,

“I don’t _know_.” Seth ground out coldly, his arms taut against the cuffs holding him, his leg twitching in front of him like he wanted to kick the male stood over him, “My father won’t talk about it. My mother was never around.” He looked up from under his eyebrows with his pale hazel eyes heavy with hate. Zeph pressed his lips together, walking down to the barn doors before moving slowly back up again. Seth seethed silently on the floor and Zeph avoided looking at the man as he paced, trying to ignore how Seth was shivering.

“Have you met people with forearms that looked like they were aflame, so bright they hurt to look at?” Seth gave him a look of utter distain,

“No.” He said, like the idea was insane. Zeph growled quietly and slunk away,

“Go to sleep, Seth.”

“Are you going to make me, demon?” The demon froze mid-step, his features catching the light as he angled his head in Seth’s direction. Seth froze,

“My name is Zephyr,” The demon said quietly “And no, I’m not going to make you.” Seth felt another wave of resentment, of fury, overriding his fear,

“I think it’s established, _demon_ , that you couldn’t if you wanted to.” He snapped, fully aware he was provoking the demon. The demon’s only movement was that of his shoulders rising and falling very slightly as he breathed, his wing feather’s stirred by a draft. The pause made Seth’s heart judder.

The demon didn’t reply, and after a moment he used his wings to lift himself up into the dark hayloft and Seth groaned and knocked his head back against the wall in frustration. He fell back, staring at the wavering candle.

Seth felt himself being drawn towards sleep but the cold, his shivering, kept him awake. The time dragged on, and on and Seth couldn’t stop his mind from spinning in circles, going over the same, dark thoughts again and again. He screwed his dry eyes closed and tried to stop thinking. There was barely a moment before his thoughts bubbled up again and Seth sagged in exhaustion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A close call.

He opened his eyes and started so badly he slammed his spine into whatever he was tied to and barely bit back a cry of pain, the long, cold bit of metal not even rattling. Seth stared at the demon stood barely a meter away, the weak early morning light seeping in behind him, the candle burnt out.

A slight frown wrinkled the demon’s forehead and Seth looked away. The demon was painful to look at; his wings were no less terrifying in the light but the red had now softened into rose gold and if it wasn’t for the coldness in his haunting, ashen eyes and the sharpness of his features, the demon could have been considered bleakly beautiful.

_Zeph_

Seth wouldn’t meet Zeph’s eyes and Zeph felt exactly like the demonic creature Seth said he was. He left without a word, feeling Seth’s dark gaze on his filthy wings, on his back, making the skin of his neck and scalp prickle. He locked the huge, weather-beaten doors with a bang and stalked over to where his beloved motorbike lay dormant under her plastic sheet. He tore it off, kicked her started and took off.

_Seth_

The best part of the demon leaving was his absence. The worse part was waiting for him to return. Seth heard a noise and went tense as he strained his ears for the sound of an engine. The dread made him feel ill and he waited, shaking. After several minutes, nothing came of it and Seth slowly allowed the tension to ease out of him. He shivered, his eyelids beginning to fall and then he heard something else and he felt his heart rate accelerate again, cursing his own fear, his eyes resolutely screwed shut as he tried to drag sleep back. It happened over and over again.

By the time the demon did return, Seth had finally sank into a light sleep so that the throaty purr of the demon’s bike went unheard until it was directly outside the barn doors and the sound jolted Seth into wakefulness, disorientated by the change in light, the sun hanging low and murky in the afternoon sky. He couldn’t help how his breathing sped up or his hands shook in the restraints but he hated that the demon would see it and perceive it as weakness.

The demon limped past him, blood caked onto his face under his nose, his wings bloody and his trouser leg saturated. Awkwardly, he lifted himself up to the hayloft with a grunt of pain, not even sparing Seth a glance.

Later, Seth woke to find the demon watching him from the other side of the barn, “What?” Seth croaked, clearing his throat. The demon’s eyes slid away, his expression flat and empty. Seth couldn’t look at the demon without feeling unnerved. “What are you?” He said finally. The demon looked up and, fixed within the confines of that gaze, Seth regretted speaking, though he forced himself to hold his head up. Dropping it would have felt like submission.

“I’m a Syren.” The male’s voice came thick and rough a moment later, his expression still disconcertingly lacking of anything close to emotion. Seth clenched his jaw and kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t a good sign that the demon, the _Syren_ , was willing to answer his question. It probably meant he had plans for Seth that involved a shovel. Seth swallowed and turned away, his empty stomach churning.

“What are you thinking?” The male’s voice was low, his eyes narrowed slightly and Seth felt a slight pain in his head, making him wince. His head was achingly tender from the battering it’d taken earlier.

“I was hoping that you’d stop trying to control me.” He said, trying not to snap, “It doesn’t work.” The Syren’s eyebrows lowered slightly and the small flutter of his wings gave away his agitation. Seth shifted uneasily,

“It’s not as easy as that.” The Syren said and they stared at each in silence. Seth turned away first. After several long minutes, the male got to his feet and Seth watched the male’s movements cagily, feeling his own vulnerability like an iron band around his chest. The Syren glanced at Seth as he passed, his wings melting into his back even as he opened the door. Then the Syren was gone and Seth was again left alone.

Seth napped on and off, stirring to find that night was falling, dusky obscurity turning the barn into a mass of warped shapes and shadows. It was quiet, the silence sharp and cold as if he was underground, and, if the Syren had returned whilst he slept, Seth couldn’t see or hear him. Seth tried and failed to settle his heartbeat, looking into the darkness and seeing shadows shifting around him. Closing his eyes wasn’t any better.  

There wasn’t any warning. The dead quiet exploded into a heady rush of violent noise, sudden, bright lights blinding him. There were people swarming into the barn, only they weren’t people, their forearms were aflame just as the Syren had said. And then they were on him, flames burning and curling around their fists, a man shouting out with glee, a woman snarling, another man close by and coming towards him.

A growl, dark and heavy and foul, had the intruders turning back towards the door as it ruptured and the space was filled with the Syren and his vast, black wings, an oil-black extension of the hazy night outside. The Syren looked terrifying, evil, and the intruders all seemed to freeze for a second, all but one male who came at the Syren, his vulpine expression enhanced by the orange flames streaming from his hands and lighting up his body with amber.

The Syren met the male with equal savagery but once they tangled, the Syren striking out with a lethal looking knife, Seth knew the Syren was outmatched. The male alone, he seemed to be handling, but then others stalked forwards and darted in when the male drew back, lunging forwards to catch the Syren unawares.

Seth flinched when the Syren cried out in pain, his shout ending in a growl as he lashed out hard and one of the flaming men was thrown into the shadows, dropping like a broken doll, his fire dissipated. Seth shuddered, sweat breaking out on his skin; the heat radiating from the creatures was like a bonfire. His slight movement drew the attention of one of the females, stood slightly off to the side, catching her breath whilst the Syren tried to hold off three of them at once. She smirked at Seth and kicked one the male next to her in the leg to get his attention. Seth struggled to keep his expression flat as the pair stalked towards him. The adrenaline rushing through him was making his leg twitch uselessly, the unyielding metal at his wrists taunting him.

“Human?” The female raised her eyebrow and Seth jerked a nod, feeling his heart judder at warmth coming off the flames, licking up their skin harmlessly. Seth tried to ignore the predatory glint in the pair’s eyes as they came closer, “Show us your hands, sweetheart.” Seth’s elbows came up as the metal chinked against the machinery and he warily twisted to show them his restraints, looking behind them as he did so to see the Syren pinned up against the barn wall, kicking out and sending a male stumbling back, bleeding from the gut, another one falling on the Syren immediately.

The female pursed her lips seductively and put one, flaming finger to her chin, the yellow flames curling up her smooth, dark cheek doing nothing to diminish the cold maliciousness in her eyes.

“What on earth should we do with such a striking specimen, all prettily tied up?” Seth’s gut clenched and he stared at her, thoughts rattling through his head like a cargo train,

“He’s got to die.” The male said, his expression heavy with something savage. He stepped forwards, the flames on his arms turning blue, heat coming off him in blistering waves and Seth pressed himself as far back as he could, feeling the heat scorching his skin, drying and burning him, even as the female smirked and said,

“Easy there, big boy.” A grunt momentarily distracted them and Seth gasped at the stuffy, overheated air, his head spinning. He blinked as a great, black shape hung overhead and then came down, flares of light moving in.

There were hands on him suddenly, clasping at him with violent force and he grunted in protest, his burnt skin and raw wrists pulsating with pain. An abrupt snap of broken metal behind him made him start and then he was dragged up, to his feet and off them, coherent enough to feel a fresh rush of terror at being heaved from the ground with his hands still pinned behind him. Seth heard outraged shouts from below and then the Syren broke through the barn roof and he was surrounded by air so chilled it stung his feverish skin. Within seconds his skin felt numb.

Clarity brought fear and when the Syren shifted his hold on Seth slightly, Seth went rigid in a panic, his leg jerking out with his hands rendered immobile. His boot hit the Syren’s leg and the Syren hissed in pain, dropping them down a heart-stopping couple of metres before their flight evened out again. After that, Seth held himself as motionless as possible.

“Where do you live?” The Syren’s voice, gritted out right next to Seth’s ear, making him flinch. The Syren seemed to take his momentary silence as a refusal to answer and with sudden viciousness, his fingers digging into Seth’s flesh, he said, “If you don’t get us there, I’ll let you go. Do you understand? And if you fall from this height, you’ll die.” There was a pain in his head again and even as Seth wearily opened his mouth, the pain cut off, irritation bourn of exhaustion blatant on the Syren’s handsome features,

“Near where you caught me,” Seth told him dully, “near the bar. I can show you from there.” The Syren nodded, altering his course. As they neared the city, the Syren caught a couple of updrafts, lifting them up high before gliding down again, graceful but drained, his wings lagging and his body hanging limp, barely maintaining his hold on Seth. He took them closer and Seth gave short, terse instructions. The Syren followed them wordlessly.

Finally, the Syren brought them down, lurching jarringly and leaving Seth’s hollow stomach churning. On the ground, he took Seth by the arm, moving towards the door of the dingy apartment block. Seth saw the Syren checking behind them warily.

“Code?” He said, his voice rough, and Seth told him the numbers, trailing at the Syren’s side. The Syren limped slowly up the concrete stairs, pausing half way up with his hand pressed to a wound at his ribs, his breath wet and rasping as he sent a wary glance in Seth’s direction. They moved off again and Seth eyed the bloody handprint the Syren had left behind on the handrail.

“This one.” Seth muttered when they reached the fourth floor and the Syren’s shoulders dipped slightly in relief. “Keys are in my zipped pocket.” He said when the Syren seemed prepared to force his way in.

The Syren got the door open and pushed it closed behind them, shoving Seth forcefully away from him with a hand on the man’s chest before he doubled over, struggling against the pain, as if Seth would attack him the moment he showed weakness. Seth didn’t move, watching the Syren scan the bedsit while he caught his breath. Limping over to the metal sink, he left bloody smears on the table, the wall, the rim of the sink. The Syren turned on the stiff tap before easing off his jacket, panting from the pain, and dropped it on the floor. He glanced around at Seth guardedly and then, after a pause, he pulled out his knife and jerkily slit his shirt up the front and across the shoulders, painfully peeling the fabric away as it stuck to his wounds, fresh blood streaming as it came free. The Syren’s quiet keen turned into a groan. Seth dizzily sat down on the bed, averting his gaze from the mess of blood and gore, the gashes so deep, Seth could see stark bits of white.

The Syren dropped his ruined shirt into the sink with a wet thud, soaking it with water before gingerly pressing it to his ribs, releasing a heavy breath of relief, pink water forming a puddle on the plastic flooring around his boots. The Syren repeated the process several times over and the blood flow was slowly stemmed as the Syren’s skin began, slowly, to knit itself back together, to Seth’s weary amazement.

Later, the Syren stumbled towards the bed and Seth stood, moving out of the way. The Syren collapsed on top of the sheets with a groan, his black wings splayed out with one hanging across the bed and the other brunched up against the wall.

The Syren passed out almost instantaneously and Seth watched the shuddering movement of the Syren’s ribcage and the progress of the steady ooze of blood tracking down the Syren’s side.

Seth looked back at the door. He stepped towards it, his hands twitching in their restraints, and then stood still again for a long time. He stepped forwards again. Hesitated.

In the end, Seth settled himself on the floor under the window, his arms cramping behind his back.

It would be hours till sunrise but there was nothing to do but wait for daylight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeph reveals something he didn't mean to.

_Zeph_

Zeph woke to the sound of another’s heartbeat, one close by and not on the other side of a hotel wall. He opened his eyes groggily and squinted at the bleary shapes of his surroundings. The dark, slumbering form on the floor, and rust red stains on the yellowing plastic surfaces brought the morning into focus and Zeph freed himself of blood-stained sheets that smelt of someone else, dropping his legs over the edge of the bed.

He winced in pain and was forced to pause, his vision narrowing with the sudden movement, muscles in his torso, neck and legs protesting fiercely. His hand moved down his calf to feel for the pouch containing his anti-mercury pills. It was still there.

When the blurriness cleared, Zeph saw that a man was looking back at him with clear, steady eyes.

“Seth.” Zeph mumbled and the man’s brows twitched at the sound of his name. Zeph reached for the man’s emotions before Seth winced and Zeph remembered he shouldn’t do that. He got stiffly to his feet, swaying as he moved across the damp, slightly sticky floor to brace his hands against the sink. The view outside was obscured by thick, wet smog; clouds of damp diesel fumes hanging close to the ground.

Zeph reached in to drain the foul, pinkish water from the sink, before rinsing out his ruined shirt and wiping away as much of the dried blood from his skin as he could manage. His fingers lingered over the dark, alien lump under the skin of his taut gut, visualising the drops of mercury it was releasing into his blood, the potency increased by his blood loss.

“What is that?” Zeph started and turned to Seth only to be unnerved by the look of curiosity on the man’s face.

“It-” Zeph braced his hands against the sink edge, “It releases poison into my blood.” He looked up to meet Seth’s bleary gaze, “It was meant to kill me.” Seth was watching him carefully,

“Why hasn’t it?” Zeph decided it wasn’t safe to tell Seth about the anti-mercury pills in case the man tried to use them as leverage, so he didn’t. “The same people as last night?” Seth tried and Zeph nodded stiffly, wringing out his shirt with quick, violent twists before dropping it into a bin under the table. His eyes flitted back to Seth before scanning around the tiny room again. It covered only the most basic essentials and yet was filled to the point of being cramped. A single grey bed, pale brown chest of drawers, a narrow wooden table, a single fold-away chair and the kitchenette in the corner; including a sink, two stoves, one in front of the other. An oven sat underneath and a cupboard hung above.

A heavy lorry drove by outside and Zeph started, glancing over warily, his wing knocking painfully into the wall. He tucked them closer to his sides.

“If I don’t turn up to work, I’ll lose my job.” Seth said. Zeph shook his head in response and Seth scowled, saying nothing, though a muscle twitched in his jaw as he turned away.

“I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into this.” Zeph said quietly. He kept his eyes away from Seth but he could tell the man was listening, “But they saw you and they’ll kill you if they see you again. They’re not what their name suggests.”

“Their name?”

“Saviours.” Seth snorted in derision,

“Sounds like a cult.” He said. Zeph grunted, wincing at the twinge in his side. He was still healing, but he had to move soon, before the mercury started inhibiting his flight. He could feel it now, gathering.

“I have to-” he broke off, looking over at Seth, “I need a shirt.” Seth raised his eyebrows before jerking his head in the direction of chest of drawers. Zeph winced as he rifled through the clothes drawer, pulling out one of Seth’s several identical, coarse work shirts.

“Take these off?” Seth said, referring to his bindings. Zeph glanced at Seth dismissively,

“No,” he said, closing the drawer. Zeph saw Seth open his mouth to argue but the sight of Zeph’s wings folding, condensing down to melt into the planes of his back must have stopped him because he fell silent. In seconds, Zeph’s back was bare and human and he lifted his arms up, slowly and painfully, to slide into the shirt. With shaking hands, he took a glass from the cupboard above the sink and filled it at the tap.

Zeph’s eyes fell shut as he downed the glass, feeling it soothe his injuries, loosening the mercury’s hold on him. He opened his eyes to find Seth watching him, his expression guarded. Filling the glass up again, Zeph brought it over to Seth to help him drink and, though Seth accepted it, Zeph caught the flash of resentment in his eyes. When Seth was done, he wiped his mouth on his shoulder and frowned at Zeph,

“Why don’t you cut it out?” Zeph raised his eyebrows in a question and Seth elaborated, “The thing in your stomach. You’d heal, wouldn’t you?” Zeph stared at Seth a moment longer before shaking his head, putting the glass down on the side,

“It’s not that simple.” He said, wearily distant, “It would release its poison before I could cut it free. Kill me.” Seth’s gaze was intense but he stayed silent for several moments, frowning silently,

“What do they want?” He asked. Zeph’s answer was short and sharp.

“They want me dead.” Zeph looked away, motionless for a long moment, “I’m dangerous.” He moved to the door, picked up Seth’s keys up from the counter and headed out.

…

He returned later that afternoon with takeaway and bone-deep weariness. He kicked Seth’s door closed and put the food down on the table, turning to see Seth come to his feet from where he’d been lying on the bed. Zeph belatedly, tiredly, realised that Seth’s phone was sat charging on the floor beside Seth’s bed and that the man could have called someone; a friend, a partner, the police. Seth must have seen his glance,

“I didn’t contact anyone,” the man said, his voice low and dejected, and Seth’s gaze dropped to Zeph’s abdomen for a moment, “not when there are fiery psychos running around.” Zeph almost smiled at Seth’s term, until he felt the mercury press down on him again as another drop was released and he had to take hold of the counter to stay upright, “What’s wrong?” Seth asked,

“Mercury.” Zeph replied tonelessly, straightening painfully as his body struggled to adjust to the heaviness, fighting it, sapping his energy. He could feel the edges of the delirium just hovering. It would be another week or so before it got truly unbearable.

“Mercury?” Seth repeated and Zeph cursed himself. He hadn’t meant to reveal that.

“Nothing.” He snapped, but Seth had already made the link,

“The poison’s mercury?” He said. Zeph pointedly ignored him, setting about taking the food out of the bags and keeping his hands from shaking,

“I won’t hurt you if you release me.” Seth said quietly, and Zeph almost believed that the man was being candid, but just because he knew he could contain Seth now didn’t mean he would always be able to; like when he was asleep, or had his back turned, or when the mercury had tightened its clutches and Zeph was weak. Besides, despite everything, Zeph couldn’t risk the small possibility that Seth wasn’t what he seemed. Who, after all, would be a better informant than someone immune to Zeph’s power?

“No.” Zeph said and then, seeing the hurt on Seth’s face, his emotions poorly concealed, he added, “I can’t.” Seth stilled somewhat, as if a thought had come to him,

“How long until-” he began to ask but Zeph cut him off,

“Stop asked questions.” He snapped, and then felt guilty when Seth cringed. He sighed, “I don’t know how long exactly,” he admitted, “I- the closest-” he struggled to speak, haunted with the memories of last time, of _her_ and them and that night. What they drove him to, but was, in the end, entirely his own guilt to bear, “It won’t kill me exactly,” he met Seth’s strangely compelling eyes, “I’ll go insane.” He saw Seth’s look of horror and swallowed down a lump in his throat, “I’ll set you free,” he promised, “if- when I- before it gets that bad.” Seth was silent while Zeph was preparing something for them to eat.

“Are there others like me?” Seth asked, after Zeph had plated up the pasta. His attention was quickly drawn to the food, as if realising how hungry he was. It took Zeph several seconds to catch up with Seth; the man’s mind flitted about all over the place and Zeph’s head, with his body still adjusting to the new mercury, felt thick and sore.

“Others like you.” He repeated, feeding Seth a spoonful of pasta, “Yes. There was a woman who was immune to me, once, a long time ago.” He found Seth watching his face,

“She felt pain too?”

“No.” Zeph said, “She felt different to you.” Seth cocked an eyebrow, accepting another spoonful while he waited for Zeph to explain, “You feel, like a cliff wall. Immovable, closed off. She was- slippery. I couldn’t get a hold on her.”

“Did you love her?” Zeph snapped his eyes up to Seth’s face, watching curiously as a blush crept over Seth’s cheeks,

“Why do you ask that?” Zeph said, sitting back a little to eat.

“The way you talk about her.” Seth said. Zeph released a heavy breath and rubbed his hand across his forehead,

“I don’t think humans understand love.” Zeph said. Seth said nothing, watching Zeph like the Syren was something incomprehensibly fascinating. The attention both thrilled and scared Zeph and he looked away, “I loved her in your sense of the word.” Zeph turned away from the subject, finishing off the pasta, “Will your father notice your absence?” Seth’s expression stiffened minutely and Zeph wasn’t surprised when Seth shook his head,

“Not for a while.” He said, “Although I probably shouldn’t tell you that.” Zeph’s mouth twitched up at the side,

“Perhaps not.” They ate the rest of the food in silence, Zeph dumping the cartons in the bin before drowning another glass of water.

“How did you get the food?” Seth said, “Do you have money?”

“No.” Zeph said and didn’t elaborate. Seth frowned. After several seconds had passed in silence Zeph said, “How do you fill your spare time?” Seth glared and didn’t reply so Zeph moved to look through Seth’s cupboard, his small chest of drawers, his curiosity returning as he adjusted to the new levels of mercury. The top two were filled with military-neat clothes but the bottom was filled with books, textbooks mostly. “You take evening classes?” Zeph asked, pulling one out to flick through it. It was to do with law and diplomacy, as far as Zeph could gather. Seth was silent but Zeph reasoned that Seth likely didn’t have the spare income for evening classes. “What’s your job?” He asked.

“If I tell you, will I be allowed to work tomorrow?” Seth said with a derisive lilt.

“No.” Zeph said, “Not if you want to live the week.” Zeph could feel Seth’s glower on his back as he continued looking through Seth’s books. The subjects were diverse; maths, philosophy, construction and self-improvement, amongst several others, and Zeph put them back carefully before selecting the one that appealed to him most; ‘Myths and Legends of the Ancient World and Their Relevance to the Modern World’. He flicked through and found that Seth had annotated and underlined sections. When Zeph looked over at Seth inquiringly, he found Seth staring murderously at the floor. “I’m sorry.” Zeph said, closing the book and returning it to the drawer, “I shouldn’t look through your possessions.” Zeph recalled his own few belongings back in the hotel he’d left but he knew there would be Saviours crawling over the place. Besides, he kept nothing personal or revealing on him as a rule.

They didn’t speak as Seth slid under the covers and turned his back. Zeph slept on the floor by the door with a wing draped over him. Neither slept for a long time, preoccupied with their own fates, inextricably interwoven though they were.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeph tries persuasion the only way he knows how.

Zeph was woken the next morning by a thudding fist on wood,

“Open up!” Another thump, the thin wooden door shuddering under the blows, “Rent’s overdue again. Seth get your ass to the door!” Zeph dragged himself groggily up to seated, slid his wings away into his back and, glancing over at Seth’s bleary look of worry, he moved to unlatch the door, the wood so thin it seemed like it would buckle under the hammering. A man, middle aged and balding but with power in his shoulders, looked taken aback when Zeph appeared and then sneered, “Another one of the boy’s conquests? Tell him to cough up.” Zeph muttered under his breath and twisted the man’s mind a little more viciously than was perhaps necessary. “My bad, already paid.” The man said quickly, “Sorry.” Zeph shut the door as the man shambled away to find Seth looking at him with something between amazement and disgust. Zeph turned away to fix Seth and himself some cereal from the meagre provisions Seth kept in the room. The milk had expired but Zeph poured it over his cereal regardless and ate ravenously, before swallowing another two glasses of water. He fed Seth, who ate with little appetite, before finishing off the rest of Seth’s cereal.

Zeph was shrugging on a different one of Seth’s shirts and his own jacket when Seth spoke,

“Where are you going?” Zeph paused to glance back at Seth, whose eyes were narrow and accusatory, and didn’t reply. “I think I deserve to know.” Seth snapped as Zeph was preparing to leave and Zeph caught the fear in Seth’s harshness.

“I’ll be back tonight.” Zeph said quietly,

“Are you going to screw with somebody’s head?” Seth said sharply and Zeph’s shoulders stiffened. None of his justifications seemed good enough. _I’m just trying to live_ , he wanted to say. He wanted to say, too, that, unlike the Saviours, he didn’t kill anyone, but that wasn’t true anymore and the stain clung to him.

Zeph stood silent and still for several long seconds but couldn’t find the words and so picked up Seth's keys and turned to leave, closing the door softly behind him and locking it, guilt twisting in his stomach. Glancing down the length of the hallway, Zeph grimaced at the pain in his side as he descended the stairs two at a time and headed out into the midday crowds.

The smog was bad today, thick enough to stick in Zeph’s throat as he breathed. For him, the pollution was just a passing nuisance since he would heal any damage done to his lungs but the humans wore masks and scarfs wrapped around their faces and Zeph did too, so as not to distinguish himself.

Zeph took several wrong turns before he found his way to where he needed to be. It was dimmer here with the smog hanging sulkily and submerging the sun.

Zeph looked up as the door opened before him.

“Lucas.” Zeph greeted. The man standing there stared at him for a long moment before waving him inside with a glance down the soupy street.

“It’s been a while.” Lucas said. Zeph nodded,

“It has.” They stood in the murky corridor silently, looking at each other.

“You look tired.” Lucas said. Zeph shrugged, turning away to tug down the scarf wrapped around his mouth. “You want to come through?” Zeph followed Lucas towards the kitchen, smelling alcohol and sniff, ingrained into the grimy walls.

“Are we alone?” Zeph asked, glancing up at the ceiling. Lucas swallowed,

“Yeah,” he said, “my housemates are out.”

“You’re a difficult man to find.” Zeph said, his eyes on the kitchen. He couldn’t see what he needed, what he knew was here.

“I- I try to be.” Lucas said, “You’re rumoured dead. It’s been a decade.”

“I’m aware.” Zeph said, “Where are you keeping it?” Lucas shifted his weight, taking a step back when Zeph moved forwards,

“I don’t do that anymore.” Lucas said, avoiding Zeph’s advances, “But I know someone-”

“No you don’t.” Zeph said, pressing in to touch Lucas’s arm. “What’re you charging these days?” Lucas shook his head,

“Don’t.” He pushed Zeph back to slide away from where Zeph had backed him up against the counter, “Daniel, just, I can get you some, alright? I just need a day or two.” Zeph narrowed his eyes.

“Why would you stop making it?” He demanded, “Why are you lying?” Lucas backed up another step,

“This isn’t you talking,” he pleaded, “Calm down, alright? I’ll get you some, I will.” Zeph looked away from the man before him. The decade between them hadn’t been kind to Lucas and Zeph was reminded again of all the time he was losing, slipping through his fingers while he lived day to day. Zeph drew in a shaky breath. He knew Lucas was right. The mercury was singing through him, and making him irrationally angry. Zeph steadied himself by force of will,

“Why would you stop making it?” Zeph repeated, more evenly. Lucas was shaking his head, his fingers jittering where he was clutching the counter. His eyes flickered to the door.

“Wasn’t worth the risk.” He said, “Fucking people came round. Scary people. I’m less stupid now.” Zeph closed his eyes as his vision swayed, “Daniel? You alright?”

“Fine.” Zeph snapped. He hadn’t used that name for years and it brought back poor memories. “Can you really get me some or are you lying?” Weariness was pressing in now. “If you can’t, just say. I’ll go.” Lucas was watching him with the same look of intentness he’d worn on his face when he was barely out of school and those brown eyes had seen right through Zeph.

“I don’t know.” Lucas said slowly. A muscle twitched in Zeph’s jaw at the news. He’d really needed Lucas to still be producing. Lucas’s fingers had stopped jittering and Zeph could see him thinking. “They hit manufacturers hard. I lost a lot of friends, contacts, you know that?” Zeph nodded. Of course he knew. The Saviours were closing in on them harder than ever and Zeph was running out of places to turn, just like the Saviours wanted. “Look, there’s one woman I know. She was still going last time I heard, but that was a year ago.” Lucas shrugged powerlessly,

“Couldn’t you just- make a small amount? For me.” Zeph put a meaningful hand on Lucas’s waist, “I’d pay you well.” Lucas visibly shuddered,

“You’re beautiful,” Lucas said quietly, “Just like always. But I can’t, I really can’t. I haven’t got the materials-”

“I’ll find them-”

“I burnt my equipment-”

“I’ll get you-”

“No.” Lucas said, pushing Zeph away from him. “No. I can’t.” Zeph resisted the urge to slam his fist into a wall and instead growled and turned around to brace his hands against the counter. He heard Lucas’s heart uptick with arousal from the other side of the room but didn’t act on it. Zeph didn’t blame Lucas and he refused to manipulate the man’s mind, even to save his own skin.

“Can you tell me where this woman is?” He asked, avoiding looking at Lucas’s weathered face, disconcertingly both the same and not.

“I met her only briefly at Trader’s. She was the only one still producing when I was heading out of the scene. Everyone else was like me; leaving.” Zeph exhaled with a weary huff. Trader’s was on the other side of the country. “It’s all I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Zeph turned to leave and heard Lucas step after him,

“Daniel-” Lucas said something but Zeph didn’t hear the rest of it. He felt suddenly as if water had risen over his head and he battled down a wave of nausea as he staggered. He knocked something to the floor and, his vision swinging, saw but didn’t hear it shatter. His ears felt like they were full of water and Zeph sank to the floor, his skin was tingling, aflame. He flinched when he felt hands on his arms like a shot of electricity along his nerves,

“Don’t touch me.” He muttered, before coherent thought was lost and he collapsed forward, groaning at the pain in his stomach. He clawed at the lump under his gut, brushing away the hands that tried to stop him, “I want it out.” He gargled, “Get it out of me.”

Zeph lost consciousness when the pain overwhelmed him and he slumped forwards.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get harder and Zeph gets desperate.

_Zeph_

Zeph woke to hands on his face, his shoulders,

“-fucking die on me, Daniel, come on.” He was shaken and Zeph groaned, prising his eyes open and trying to get his elbow under him. “Steady, easy, easy.” Lucas’s words were harried and scared and Zeph found the man’s face hovering over him, his brows drawn together. “This is bad, where are your pills?”

“Running out.” Zeph muttered and pushed himself up to seated, pressing a sweat-slick hand to his forehead when his vision threatened to descend back to blackness. His hand shook before his face.

“You can’t stay,” Daniel said, “I’m sorry, so sorry, but you’ve got to go. I’m out, I got out of this.”

“I know.” Zeph placated. “A minute, then I’ll be gone.” Lucas was thrumming with tension where Zeph didn’t have the energy to keep his eyes open.

“Daniel?” Lucas said, his hand touching Zeph’s cheek. The contact was like an electric shock and Zeph pulled his face away, his eyelids drooping, “Don’t sleep,” Lucas hissed, panicked, “come on, stay with me.” Zeph grunted, drawing an unsteady breath before forcing his feet under him. He staggered to his feet and Lucas stood in front of him, his hands on Zeph’s arms.

“What’s her name?” Zeph managed, his voice rough. He felt unbearably heavy and he knew that his wings had been rendered useless by this recent flush of mercury. Zeph wanted desperately to leave, return to Seth, almost as much as Lucas wanted Zeph gone. He didn’t trust Lucas enough to reveal where he kept his pills – at his calf – and take one here, so he would have to wait until he got back to Seth’s.

“Who?” Lucas said, fretfully nudging Zeph towards the door. Zeph acquiesced, allowing himself to be moved. The first step was agony. His nerve endings were overwhelmed by the mercury and they misfired with the touch of Lucas’s hands on him and the floor under his feet. His senses were alternatively dulled and painfully sharp.

“The woman-” Zeph hissed in pain as he took another step, “at Trader’s.”

“Oh, I- don’t know.” Lucas stuttered, “I can’t remember.” Zeph growled and stopped moving, leaning against the wall and turning to fix Lucas under his gaze.

“I need you to remember.” He said. Lucas stared back, his eyes flicking down to Zeph’s lips almost compulsively. Zeph repressed his shudder of revulsion and forced himself to put a hand on Lucas’s shoulder and heard the man’s heart uptick, bracing himself for the sparking pain from his skin, before leaning in to press his lips to Lucas’s. The man’s face was too soft, too weary, the face of a stranger and Zeph’s hand screwed into a fist by his side. He hadn’t needed this act for a long time and to put it on now, when he was too sensitive and sick and unbalanced and the skin of the man before him was too harried and drawn for Zeph to summon even the slightest desire for him.

But Zeph did his best and when he drew away, Lucas’s head came forwards to follow him, blinking drunkenly. Zeph held his mask tightly in place as he looked at Lucas’s face; a stranger’s face.

“Please.” Zeph said. He could feel Lucas’s slickness on his lips and his hand twitched to wipe it away. Zeph told himself that this was a costume, that he could take it off later and put himself back together. In that short time between having the world behaving just as it should and the ground sliding out from under his feet, suppliers of anti-mercury had been falling away, killed or deserting, and the Saviours’ raids became more organised, frequent, targeted and lethal than ever. Zeph had had to get used to moulding himself to fit suppliers’ needs in order to get what he needed when he was on the run had nothing else to offer. And he needed that name.

“I’m sorry.” Lucas said, slightly breathless, his eyes too wide, “I don’t know.” Zeph clenched his jaw but didn’t otherwise react.

“Alright.” He said, pressing a kiss to Lucas’s rough cheek, his age-slackened skin repulsing Zeph though he kept his emotions from his face. “Leave me a note if you remember.” Lucas looked dazed but he nodded. Zeph knew it to be a lie – Lucas wouldn’t risk his note being picked up by Saviours – but he didn’t call Lucas on it. The man had the right to a life Zeph never could; safe and blissfully normal. Zeph tugged on the door and stiffened his spine, drawing himself together. No weakness. He stepped out into the street.

“Alison!” Zeph turned to look at Lucas, his eyebrows raised in enquiry. It took a moment for his mercury-muddled brain to understand – the woman, at Trader’s – but he made the connection and inclined his head once. Lucas nodded back, glancing furtively both ways down the street before shoving the door shut.

Zeph sighed and set one foot in front of the other all the way back to apartment. He didn’t want to leave trails of coerced people for the Saviours to stumble across if he could help it and taxi drivers were the first people Saviours would check.

“Zeph!” Seth hissed Zeph’s name as he staggered into the tiny apartment and pressed the door shut behind him, struggling to free the scarf from around his neck. He couldn’t get his fingers to work and moved instead for the bed, collapsing down to pull at his trouser leg, bracing his elbow against his other thigh to steady himself. He dug at the pouch at his calf, fingering it open and drawing out his pills to shakily push one out into his palm. Holding it like a pearl, he pressed it to his lips, dirtied by Lucas’s desire, and swallowed the medicine with a shudder of heat. Holding the two remaining pills to his chest, Zeph curled up on Seth’s bed and shook as the anti-mercury began to take effect.

“Zeph?” Seth’s voice was quiet, concerned,

“Yeah?” Zeph murmured, feeling the slow shift inside him as the mercury was dissolved, driven away.

“Are you- alright?” Zeph hummed noncommittally, feeling himself slipping away and allowing himself to fall into unconsciousness.

…

He woke groggy and unsettled. He though hazily that the anti-mercury should have worked by now. That this wasn’t normal.

“What are those pills?” Seth’s voice was painfully loud in Zeph’s ears; his senses were still too sharp. Zeph pushed himself up to seated wearily, blinking in the low light.

“What time is it?”

“Eight.” Seth said, glancing down at his watch, “In the morning.” He added. Zeph nodded, struggling to remember all that had happened. Everything had felt watery and distant, warped by pain. He hadn’t had it that bad before, that sudden. It shouldn’t have happened. “What are those pills?” Seth repeated and Zeph glanced down to find his hand still clutching the anti-mercury packet. The ruptured pockets pained him; only two held pills and that would barely last him to the end of the week.

Zeph put the packet away, fastening the pouch at his calf and hiding it from Seth’s sight.

“Medicine.” Zeph said finally. “Are you hungry?” Seth was frowning at him,

“The medicine is for the mercury?” Seth guessed, “You’re running out.” Zeph laughed humourlessly,

“I’m aware.” He said.

“Is that where you go when you leave?” Seth pressed, “To get more medicine?” Zeph didn’t respond, pulling off his shirt with a grunt, his torso still twinging from the wound he’d received from the Saviours. He dropped it on the bed and snagged another shirt from Seth’s drawers, shrugging his leather jacket over the top,

“We’re leaving.” He said.

“What? Why? Did the fiery bastards follow you?” Zeph saw Seth look over at the door as if the Saviours were just about to rush in.

“Bag?” Zeph said looking around the room. Seth didn’t respond, “Rucksack? Seth?” Zeph prompted, dropping to his knees to check under the bed; there. He stuck his arm under the bed and dragged out a worn black rucksack, probably used to take his lunch to his job, if Seth was a workman like Zeph suspected.

Zeph stuffed clothes and water into the bag and, glancing at Seth’s murderous expression, added the textbook on mythology.

“The Saviours will find this place,” Zeph said, “And they’ll clear out everything here, analyse it for DNA, handwriting, family connections, everything.” He paused, looking at Seth. “I know I’ve fucked up your life by showing up and you have every reason to hate me. But I need you to not fight me every step of the way, if you want to live long enough to stay angry at me.” Seth’s gaze was icy, “Is there anything here you want to keep? Any photos that would lead the Saviours to relatives, friends?” Zeph held Seth’s gaze and, after a moment, Seth got to his feet and moved over to the chest of drawers to awkwardly open the second drawer with his bound hands. He ran his fingers underneath it and peeled a tacked photo from the underside. He tucked it into his trouser pocket without letting Zeph see and looked coldly at Zeph,

“Anything else?” Zeph prompted.

“No.” Seth said. Zeph nodded and zipped up the rucksack. “Take these off.” Seth held out his cuffed wrists and Zeph looked at them. He swallowed thickly,

“I can’t.” He said, turning away.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Seth demanded, “Take them off!” Zeph didn’t turn around,

"Do you have a car?”

"I've seen you break metal. Just snap them."

"Car?" Zeph said.

“No.” Seth all but growled and Zeph glanced over at him as he pushed the apartment door closed and found the male eying him stonily, “Get these off me."

"We need to go." Zeph said. Seth refused to move,

"Zeph!" Seth snapped, "It would take seconds, why won't you just do it?"

"Just stop," Zeph said, his head throbbing. "Seth, please. Later, I- we'll do it later." Seth relented.

"Fine." Seth said, his frustration softening into reluctant acquiescence and Zeph didn’t wait for Seth to change his mind. They headed down the stairs. Zeph’s side aching at the pull and twist of his muscles.

“Can’t you call a taxi?” Seth said as they headed out of the apartment block, pulling up their scarves to face the soap-thick air,

“No.” Zeph said, fighting to keep his temper with the headache that was raging behind his temples. If Seth would just stop questioning him. “Not unless I wanted to lead the Saviours right to us.” Seth moved to catch up with Zeph’s fast stride and bumped shoulders with a woman passing by, eliciting a glare of irritation,

“It would help my cooperation if you actually explained things.” Seth snapped.

“They always check taxi drivers.” Zeph said, forcing himself to slow his stride to match Seth’s. He had his arm curled awkwardly around his side. Just the thought of someone bumping into his wound made him sweat. “Ones that have gone off the radio or haven’t turned up. They check for missed payments or reports of confusion, dizziness. My,” Zeph struggled to find a word for it, “power, isn’t untraceable. People know, later, when its worn off, that they did something they wouldn’t usually. They put it down to a mood swing or alcohol or tiredness or whatever is most reasonable, but the Saviours know what to ask.” Zeph led them towards a main road and pretended to try to hail a car with his thumb outstretched whilst he was actually reaching out to snatch at the minds of the humans passing by in their trucks. It took several attempts but with a neat, careful twist, Zeph persuaded a truck driver to override the cruise control and the truck pulled up, illegally, in front of them to a chorus of horns from the cars forced to slow behind it. Zeph wrenched open the door and gestured for Seth to get in. He did, but not before sending Zeph a look laden with misgivings and resentment.

The inside of the truck cabin was chemically clean and a young, slim man was stood over the truck controls and staring at the pair of them with furrowed brows,

“I’m sorry-” He started but Zeph tiredly turned the man’s mind away. The man broke off speaking and instead moved to set the truck’s controls back on route before turning and walking back to the narrow space behind the cabin, where there was a small bunk bed for overnight travelling. The truck pulled away, sliding into the stream of traffic with smooth efficiency.

Seth’s eyes followed the whole thing and Zeph moved to find out where the truck was headed so that he didn’t have to see how Seth was looking at him. The route was set for only half an hour’s more driving and Zeph sat down heavily in the control seat. He didn’t want to change the route – it could lose the man his job to go driving hundreds of miles out of his way – but the thought of having to repeatedly find drivers that were going their way, and twist their minds to accept he and Seth, was an exhausting prospect.

The mercury was draining and Zeph felt cheated that he had been denied the usual euphoric release after taking a tablet; a few seconds of being almost mercury-free, and after that, a few days of being, for the most part, in blissful control of his own body. But Zeph hardly felt like he’d taken the anti-mercury tablet at all.

He needed rest such as a long drive could allow him, and he need more tablets. He told himself he’d find that woman at Trader’s and, his stomach clenching uncomfortably at the thought, he’d do whatever he needed to in order to get that medicine.

Seth was watching him silently, rocking with the movement of the truck.

“I want these off.” He said, referring to the cuffs.

"No."

"Why the fuck not?" Seth said, low and aggressive. Zeph didn't respond, couldn't.

Seth was suddenly in front of him, shoving him back against the door window with his bound hands against Zeph's chest. Zeph grunted in pain as the sharp push strained his injured side but didn't move, waiting tensely for Seth to make a move,

"Why did you pick me up?" Seth said, his face close enough that his breath ghosted over Zeph's cheek, "Why didn't you just leave me alone? I don't have a lot but it’s mine and I worked for it. You took that from me, why?" Seth's expression twisted, "Idle curiosity?" He spat.

"I didn't know if you were an informant." Zeph said, making his voice cold.

"Informant for who?" Seth said, scowling, "Why the hell would I be a snitch?"

"The Saviours." Zeph said, "You can't be influenced-"

"So I'd be a perfect fucking spy, right.” Seth’s tone was caustic. “Except, of course, for the fact that I'd never fucking heard of them." He paused, glaring, and then another thought seemed to occur to him, "What if the Saviours hadn't seen me in the barn, what would you have done then? Let me live my life?"

"I don't know." Zeph said quietly, avoiding Seth's eyes, "What if you were picked up by them, if they found out that you were impervious?"

"That's how you'd have justified killing me? On the possibility that I might get found by them?"

"It doesn't matter," Zeph said, "They saw you."

"It does matter." Seth said, "Because you were going to kill me."

"You don’t know that." Zeph's lack of a response seemed to infuriate Seth further and his hand shot forwards to grab Zeph's collar, slamming him back into the truck door, not hard enough to truly hurt him but enough to punctuate Seth's anger.

"You're a fucking piece of work." Seth said, low and hard. Zeph looked at him, seeing Seth’s features twisted up in loathing, his breathing flaring as he stared back at Zeph, seeming to dare him to react, to fight back.

Seth moved to take his hands from Zeph’s shirt and Zeph tensed warily, thinking that Seth was going to strike him again.

“What, are you afraid of me?” Seth said, incredulousness colouring his voice, “You’re-” Seth broke off, making a vague motion with his hand and Zeph filled in the blank: he was immortal, a freak, dangerous. Zeph held Seth’s gaze until the man’s face flushed with discomfort and looked away,

“I’m not at my best.” He said, frowning at Seth. Seth’s eyes snapped back to scour Zeph’s face, gutting Zeph with his scrutiny.

“Is that why you won’t take these off? You’re afraid of me?” Zeph glanced down at the cuffs and then back up to Seth’s face. He didn’t say anything and that gave Seth his answer. “Right.” Seth said and sat back away from Zeph, allowing Zeph to sag back against the window, wincing as a wave of throbbing pain passed through his abdomen. “What is it?” Seth said and Zeph cursed his perceptiveness,

“Nothing.” He said, standing to move towards the small room behind the cabin, anything to get away from Seth’s scrutiny but Seth’s legs were in his way. “Move.” Zeph snapped, his patience fractured. Seth, watching him predatorily, slowly moved his legs to the side and Zeph, scowling, pushed past him, only for Seth to grab at the back of his shirt, unbalancing him so that he almost fell, “Goddammit Seth!” Zeph said, putting a hand out to stop himself falling. Seth held a fistful of his shirt, “Stop acting like a child.”

“You still haven’t taken these off.”

“You aren’t making me want to.” Zeph said and, wrapping his fingers around Seth’s wrist, pulled the man’s hand free of his shirt with a vicious tug. He released Seth’s hand so that his bound wrists fell limply in his lap, the man's expression surprised.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Zeph.”

“You just did.”

“Not again.” Seth said. Seth’s expression seemed sincere and yet,

“You can’t know that.” Frustration made Seth’s eyebrows furrow,

“Why can’t I?” He demanded,

“Life is unpredictable.” Zeph said.

“Bullshit, Zeph! Don’t walk away.” Zeph passed into the tiny room behind the cabin and found the driver sat on the bed, watching some kind of drama on a screen. He looked over at Zeph with muddled puzzlement but didn’t speak. Zeph was too tried to manipulate the man further so it was to Zeph's relief when, after a second the man turned back to his screen.

Zeph heard Seth getting up, coming towards him and Zeph’s skin prickled as he glanced around the box-like room. Seth could easily block the door-

“Zeph?” Zeph told himself to get it together and found himself glaring at Seth.

“Stay in the front.” He ordered.

“What? Why?” Zeph’s skin crawled with irrational anger and though some part of him recalled Lucas’s words – this isn’t you – he found himself stepping forwards to forcefully shove Seth out of the doorway.

“Don’t fucking block me in.” He snarled and found that his hand, gripping the cheap plastic doorframe, was slick with sweat.

“Zeph,” Seth looked oddly lost, “I wasn’t-”

“You were!” Zeph forced himself to stop speaking, his hand shaking as he pressed it to his stomach. His gut ached and his hands twitched as he looked down at his calf, desperate for the anti-mercury. He couldn’t- not until they were closer to Trader’s. God, he didn’t even know whether Lucas had been telling the truth, whether there really was an ‘Alison’. And if there was, that she would trade with him, considering he had so little to offer. And right now, he looked like a malnourished addict; it wasn’t the best advert.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” Zeph lifted his head sharply,

“I didn’t mean to block you in.” Zeph crossed his arms over his chest and avoided looking at Seth’s face, finding that his gaze had fallen to rest on Seth’s bound hands instead. He tore it away.

“I- I know. It’s fine.” He said dully.

“Uh.” Seth and Zeph both turned to see that the driver was looking at them with wide eyes. He looked to barely be out of school and Zeph pitied him, “Who are you? What are you doing in-? Are you- robbing me?”

“Hey, no-” Seth started, placating. Zeph, as gently as he could manage, used his words to alter the man’s perception, persuading him that he knew Zeph and Seth and that he had nothing to be afraid of. That they weren’t a threat, in fact, he and Seth weren’t even worth his notice. The driver promptly turned back to the screen and didn’t spare them another glance. Seth grunted in pain, catching the second-hand effects of Zeph’s power, and Zeph glanced over at him regretfully before a sudden rush of nausea prevented him from speaking and his hand fumbled for the doorframe for support.

He hoped desperately that the pain would pass but it only worsened, each wave increasing in intensity and, finally, he pushed Seth away from him and tugged the door closed before Seth could react, only just managing to lock it before the mercury tightened its hold and Zeph sank to the floor. The driver didn’t even glance over.

“Zeph?” Seth’s voice was muffled by the thin partition and Zeph was afraid that Seth would be able to break through it, if he took into his mind to do so. “Zeph, let me in. What’s wrong?” Zeph gritted his teeth against the painful rush of mercury being pumped through his bloodstream by his traitorous heart. “Zeph?” Seth sounded sincerely concerned, his voice soft,

“It’s a lie,” Zeph muttered, pressing his hands to his tender head, “A fucking lie.” His wings shifted under his skin uncomfortably and Zeph pressed his forehead to his knees, “Trader’s, Alison, tablets. Fucking fuck, fuck.” There was that same watery feeling rising in his ears, "Fuck.” Zeph heard Seth calling out only vaguely before Zeph passed out.


End file.
